A Familiar Chill
by isabelde
Summary: My first fanfic, post-Next to Normal. Most people did Natalie/Henry fanfics, so of course, I had to take the incestuous route and throw Gabe into it. Rating for Natalie's language and some sexual situations. Let me know what you think so far! :
1. Chapter 1

As I continued skimming through my newest piano piece, I could hear the unrelenting tone of the late-night news blaring downstairs. Dad must've fallen asleep on the couch. Again. Ever since my mom abandoned us, it seemed that my dad never left that damn couch (except to visit his psychopharmacologist every now and again). Slightly disheartened by the derisive television, I shuffled off to my room, hoping that sleep would encapsulate me as quickly as possible. As I threw my limp body onto my bed, a familiar chill invited itself into the room. "Well, look who picked a great time to visit," I barked into the dimly-lit room. Without response, the chill inched its way closer to me until it was too cold to bear. "Would you stop that?" My voice sliced through the brisk, overbearing air. "Today has already been as shitty as it needs to be."

"Okay, okay, relax Natalie." My brother's voice half-heartedly comforted me as the chill lifted. My head fell back onto my comforter as I slowly regained my regular body temperature. In the awkward silence that followed, I thought about the unusual circumstance my brother was in. He died 16 years ago as an 18-month-old baby, but still managed to "live" as a ghost of his 18-year-old teen self in our house now. Leave it to the Goodmans to lead this not-even-next-to-normal, dysfunctional life. As my ghostly brother yawned next to me, I picked myself up and leaned against the wall, clutching a pillow against my chest. "Dad's still a mess, huh," the voice next to me announced rather than asked. We both knew the answer.

Just thinking of my family's past made me shiver. As much as I tried to cover it, my brother noticed my body's contortions and lifted his arm to offer me his warmth. I quizzically searched his face to see if this was just another one of his jokes, but his face was serious and almost serene as he looked back into my eyes. Normally, I would object anyone who felt I needed to be "rescued," but what the hell, what about this family, my life, was normal anymore? My brother was the only one who understood exactly what I was going though. After all, he was enduring the same hell I was. The thought was strangely comforting as I scooted closer to the ghost of my brother, whose earlier chill faded into a surprisingly consolatory heat. A toned, apparitional arm gently draped over my left shoulder, and soon my head fell onto his chest. He was being oddly considerate while I rested by his side. As the night wore on, my head dropped lower and lower until I was lying across my brother's lap. "You need to sleep," he scolded. While ghostly fingers caressed my arm, my eyelids slowly drew to a close, aided by the gentle warmth of his hand rubbing my side.

When my eyes fluttered open at 3 in the morning, I was surprised to find him still sitting above me. He didn't notice that I was awake, and I could hear him sigh empty-heartedly as he looked around the room, imagining the life he could've had. His eyes darted around the room until they suddenly came to rest upon my face. He didn't say anything, only a small smile crawled across his face. The full moon's light shone through my window, giving my spectral brother a light blue glow. I never realized how his features fit so perfectly together, how his dark brown hair gently caressed his face, how his deep blue eyes could pierce right through you. I didn't even realize I was leaning toward him until I was 2 inches away from his face. I quickly came to my senses and sprung away from my brother to collect my thoughts. This couldn't be happening. He was dead. He was my _brother_ for fuck's sake! I couldn't even put into words how wrong this was. That was, until I looked back at him.

His piercing blue eyes worked their magic as he inquisitively stared me down. We both knew what could happen was wrong. The questions burning in my eyes reflected off his moonlit baby blues. That off-balance smile slowly crept onto his face as he inched toward me. I backed away as far as I could until I was pressed against the wall behind my bed. Those rebellious blue eyes dared me to question why this shouldn't happen and suddenly, in that moment, I couldn't think of a single reason. As cadaverous hands crawled their way up my bed, my mind raced, screaming at myself to stop allowing this to happen, screaming at him to stop coming onto me, but my stupid heart commanded me to sit there like an awkward statue waiting for her undead brother to carry her away.

What a great fucking picture. Wait until I tell our zombie children.

He soon made his way to where I was sitting, where I finally had the courage to speak up. "This really isn't—" my objections were quickly shut up by the swift force of his lips pressing against mine. My eyes flew open, and I tried to push away, but the wall behind me had become my barrier, pinning me between a rock and a hard place—or rather a wall and an extremely attractive ghost-brother. After a few moments, my brother pulled away from me, daring me to dive after him. When I refused to budge, he picked me up and spun me around my room before playfully tossing me back onto my bed. As if he wasn't already being cheesy—and adorably annoying—enough, he started to tickle me before I could leave my awkward, just-thrown-onto-a-bed position. "Stop, honestly," I announced only half-seriously in between laughs. "It's like you're five years old." Then he began to laugh, which made me laugh more, and before I knew it, we were just sitting there laughing.

When the laughter finally subdued, I gazed into his eyes and noticed a reflection of my desire for this to happen in them. None of us ever just laughed anymore. No one ever made me just sit and laugh for no reason. He put something fun into my life. I needed him. He must have realized that I was yearning for his touch, his kiss, his…anything, because before I knew what was happening, I was lifted into his lap and held by my waist right before him. My fingers gently ran through his chocolate brown hair as his strong hands tightened around my waist. I was quickly pulled into an intense kiss that both satisfied and left me wanting more. As we kissed, our bodies began to pulse in a synchronous rhythm that left us intertwined. The heat radiating off our bodies made me start to sweat, and the next thing I knew, he was fumbling to get me out of my shirt! Suddenly feeling confident as hell, I yanked at his shirt until there was nothing between me his incredible abs. My fingers raced across his chest as our kiss continued. I felt his ghostly hands running up and down my back, giving me goose bumps, as his lips intensely pressed against mine. Our lips eventually broke away, and his mouth began to explore its way down my neck and onto my shoulders while I sat in bliss and disbelief at what was happening. I began to moan, and before I knew what happened, I clutched his hair and yelled out his name: "Gabe!"

The kisses stopped. I let go of his hair.

I had never said his name before.

I couldn't believe what was happening. Like an emotionally-perturbed child, I began to cry. Gabe turned to face me, confused, excited, and worried. I couldn't even talk through my tears. "Look, it's okay, it's okay," Gabe confusedly comforted me while still firmly holding my waist. With each tear, I received another kiss from the phantom boy in a failed attempt to shut me up. I continued to babble, still lost in mid-cry, until Gabe pulled me into his chest, where I calmed into a peaceful, silent state of self-loathing. Gabe soon repositioned us so that we were both lying down on my bed. With his strong arms around me, I leaned into his chest, ready to fall asleep, half-hoping this all was just a dream. My eyes were just about to close when one word pulsed through my head:

Henry.

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Chapter 2 will be up shortly!


	2. Chapter 2

Henry. Henry. Henry.

His name ricocheted through my head to the pulse of my rapidly-beating heart. I couldn't help but mumble a quiet, "Fuck," at the thought of my faithful boyfriend finding out what I had just done. What the hell was I thinking? Why was I so eager to throw myself at Gabe when I had someone who would gladly do anything for me? My body tensed as I recalled those weeks when Henry was so diligent and persistent to help me while my mother coped with her depression, while I became so crazy that drugs seemed to be the only logical answer, while my family's last thread that held it somewhat together was cut. I lied for hours thinking of the mistake I just made.

Then of course, Mr. I'm-So-Wonderful-Aren't-You-Glad-I'm-Your-Fucking-Brother had to pull me closer to his chest and speak directly into my ear. "Morning," he whispered, faking an incredibly believable sleepy voice. I couldn't deny how sexy and irresistible he seemed—and I rarely considered guys sexy, especially not my dead brother. His comforting heat suddenly morphed into a chilling taunt that tempted me to nestle deeper into his body, and it was then that I realized we were both still half naked. I glanced at his chest, so perfectly toned and muscular, and turned my head to see if I was still clothed.

Barely.

One of my silvery-white bra straps had fallen off my shoulder, and my jeans were pulled slightly lower than where they had been placed the day before. I stared at my limp body in disbelief. What kind of girl ends up this fucked up by her dead brother? My thoughts were quickly interrupted by a cool hand lightly dragging its way up my arm and tenderly placing my bra strap back in its proper position atop my shoulder. Although his haunting touch left me wanting more, I hastily jumped off the bed and rushed to grab a shirt. I scanned around the room until I found the shirt closest to me. As I threw it on, I could hear Gabe stifle a small laugh behind me. "And what is _your_ problem?" I jokingly snapped at him.

"Oh, it's nothing," he responded sarcastically. "Just that you look pretty great in that outfit." I raced over to my mirror and found myself staring at a girl whose half-fallen-out ponytail was a mess, a girl whose makeup had rubbed off onto her pale-white cheeks, a girl who had thrown on her brother's giant red shirt by mistake. I quickly began to fix my hair and makeup when that familiar chill waltzed right up behind me, just centimeters away from my skin. "You know," his icy lips brushed past the back of my neck, making my hair stand on end, "you really are something else." His voice lingered by my ears as I turned to face him. Just as I was about to wittingly strike back at him, I noticed a picture on my dresser right behind him, the only picture that ever stayed in my room, a picture of me and Henry.

It was an old picture from way back when my dad used to photograph everything. I was seated at a piano in our school's practice room. Henry sat just a few feet away from me, as usual, and was apparently telling me something funny, for my head was thrown back, and my mouth hung wide open. Henry's face possessed an enormous smile as he watched my reaction to his joke. The picture was slightly blurry, and the sun shining through the window behind us discolored the rest of the room, but the photograph encapsulated one of the few days where none of this fucked-up world mattered. It was just me and Henry enjoying each other's company, living in our own little fantasy. What kind of person would leave someone as wonderful as Henry, whose imperfections made him perfect for someone like me, for someone like Gabe, who wasn't even physically alive?

I was brought back to real life by a cool hand rubbing my arm, and an apparitional body slowly drifting toward me. "Gabe, we can't do this," I snapped.

"What?" he asked slyly, only slightly serious.

"We…I…can't do this," I whispered slowly, close to tears.

Gabe's rebellious half-smile faded. "Why?"

This made me hit my breaking point. How could he not get this? The tears returned; my babbling began. I tried to explain that sister and dead brother just can't do this, but all I could end up saying was, "I can't," over and over again.

"You can't what?" he barked. "Love? Be with someone you care about? I'm damn sure you could—"

"It's not right!" I screamed through my tears, cutting him off. "If you weren't my brother, that would be _vastly_ helpful. If you weren't _dead_—"

"Why does that matter so much to you? I'm here. You're here. We both feel something, something no one feels in this house." He waited for any response from me, but I couldn't speak. His voice quieted to a whisper. "Don't tell me you don't feel something, too." At first I thought he meant that I didn't return his feelings, and I tried to reject that, but he continued before I got the chance. "Everyone denies I'm here. My own father…he wouldn't even acknowledge my existence…for sixteen years. Mom was the only one who truly loved me and now she's gone. And now I'm here with you…and after last night…you're the only one who…sees me." He took a step closer.

Struggling to hold back more tears, I simply announced, "Henry." Gabe stared at me and for once in his life, he looked fragile, as if I said any more, he would fall apart right there. Gabe never was the type of guy to lose it, so seeing him like this frightened me, worried me. I couldn't look at him like this. As he began to slowly back away from me, eyes cast to the ground, I forgot every other thing in the world and froze. Gabe was leaving me. I made him want to back away from me. I was losing him. In that moment, nothing else in the world mattered. I needed Gabe. Here. With me. Before I knew what I was doing, I rushed up to Gabe, threw my arms around him and pulled him close to me. Gabe's arms wrapped around my body, tightening our embrace. "Stay," I whispered through my silent tears. "Please." My face soon was lifted by strong, ghostly hands so that he could look into my eyes. Without saying a word, he leaned in and gently kissed my lips, so gently that it gave me goose bumps. My want, my need for him grew, and he could read it in my eyes.

"But first," he whispered, "let me help you make this outfit a whole lot better." With that, my brother's oversized-on-me, red shirt came floating off my skin and over my head, and ghostly fingertips ran their way to the back of my head, where my hair band was soon pulled from my hair, allowing my dark brown curls to lay on my skin. As I was pulled into an intense kiss, I could feel his hands searching their way down my back to the clasp of my bra. While the silvery-white fabric fell to the floor, and Gabe's lips traced their way down my neck, all I could see was the picture of Henry and me, but all I could think was Gabe. Gabe. Gabe.

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Ahhh, intense. More to come soon guys! Please review and let me know what you think so far!


	3. Chapter 3

**Guys! I'm so sorry I haven't updated literally since August, and this chapter isn't the most exciting of the three, but it's something new! Thank you for sticking with me while waiting for this, I really appreciate it. :) I hope you enjoy!**

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As the sun pierced its way into my blurred eyes, and my head's relentless throbbing became extremely evident, my mind attempted to fathom what I had been through in the past few hours. For the life of me, I couldn't remember anything except the slight, constant chill on my skin. My blankets' comforting warmth quickly abandoned me as I pulled my body up against my upright pillow. My room seemed colder than it usually did in the morning, and the air nipped at my skin. When my hands jumped to my stomach to readjust the blankets, I suddenly realized why the cold attacked my delicate flesh: I was completely naked. No clothes, no underclothes; just pale, bare skin reflecting the sun's glow. With hasty grasps, I raced to cover my vulnerable body with my sheets. It was then that I remembered: I wasn't alone last night, and I still wasn't alone. My eyes slowly wrapped around the room, taking in each little detail. Shirts and jeans and bras and pants thrown hastily onto the floor. Sheets tossed into a heap at the foot of the bed. A long, toned body lying next to me, peacefully faking sleep.

Quick bursts of memories of the past few hours flashed through my mind with each forced flick of my eyelids. Soft lips brushing against each other. Gleaming skin pulsing in rhythm. Curious hands climbing each dip and curve. Fingers lacing through tangled hair.

I clutched the clump of blankets held tightly in my hand. I should've felt guilt, remorse, anger, _something_, but all I could think about was the feeling of warmth and heat and passion that radiated from our ethereal intimacy. The world seemed almost at peace for a fraction of a second, until I glanced toward my clock: 7:10. Through a muddle of quiet damns, fucks, and shits, I raced through my morning routine, quickly applying trace amounts of makeup—just enough to add some color to my pale face—, tying my disheveled hair back in a low ponytail, and throwing on the clothes nearest to me. I was such a hurried mess that I didn't even notice Gabe saunter up behind me, close enough to nip at the back of my neck. "Morning," he whispered. His breath sliced through the air with a familiar chill, but his voice was warm and tender, matching his comforting touch as he gently grasped my arm.

"I have to go," I announced with quiet certainty. I tried to pull away from his grip, but his strong hold on me caused me to bounce awkwardly back into place. He caught me off guard; I was still in the middle of putting my jeans on—it was definitely not the most attractive time for him to come on to me. "Honestly?" I laughed as I continually pulled away from him. "How am I going to explain to my teachers that I was late because of a damn ghost?"

Saying the comment aloud sounded much worse than I wanted it to be. It obviously took Gabe aback, but he didn't retaliate. His only response was the loosening of his grip on my arm. I half-heartedly muttered a "Thanks," grabbed my backpack off the floor, and ran out of my room, only momentarily leaving behind my fucked up life for the hellhole of school. My breaths quickened as I raced out of the house and away from Walton Way toward the school. I silently wished Henry wouldn't be there. How could I face him? He was so willing to wait, so eager to help, and all I had done was push him aside for a sickening fantasy. My feet rapidly brought me closer and closer to my worst nightmare, because bad news:

Henry was there.

He saw me as soon as I walked through the doors. It wouldn't matter how many fucks I exclaimed, whether they be under my breath or shouted at the top of my lungs, Henry wouldn't leave me alone. He'd outlive God trying to figure out why I was trying to avoid him. As I opened my locker, my mind ran like a sergeant giving orders.

Just blend in.

Put your books away.

Just grab your Calc book and leave.

You're not here.

You're invisible.

But before I could race off to the torture that is first period Calculus, a hand crept its way onto my locker's door and slowly pushed it closed. I glanced over to see Henry leaning against the row of lockers, half-smile crawling across his face, and possibly already stoned. "Hey," he happily announced.

I didn't continue our usual banter.

"I-I have to go," I stammered.

"What's your problem?" Henry asked, but I barely looked at him. By the end of his question, I was already facing the opposite direction and six steps away, forcing myself to leave before I said too much. No matter what I did, I would hurt him. No matter what I did, I would hurt someone.

My thoughts haunted me all day, but as soon as the bell rang at 2:45, I raced to the school's practice room. I needed to play the piano away from home, away from anyone; just me, the keys, and a Mozart sonata or two. While my fingers brushed across the smooth white keys in sync with my tapping foot on the pedal, all else drifted away for just a moment. The faint, distant sounds of students rushing to their buses or gossiping about who kissed who all faded away to nothing more than mere echoes, then eventual silence. The piano's harmonious ringing melded into my ears as I felt my problems dissolve, if only for a moment.

But as soon as I stopped, the pain again took hold, rushing back to my body like a swarm of wasps. I groaned aloud. "What the _fuck_ am I going to do about Gabe?" I wondered aloud. "What would Henry say?"

A familiar, romantic voice darted across the room:

"Looks like you'll find out now."


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey guys! This chapter's a little more exciting and fluffier than the last, and it's the first chapter that doesn't ever say "familiar chill" in it...weird... I hope you enjoy! And thanks to my bud Kaitlyn for always helping me with these :)**

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"Henry!" I exclaimed. My body quickly launched into an upright position, almost as if that would cover the lies I was about to tell. I turned to see him leaning against the door, hands in pockets. "What's up?" I stumbled over my words, trying to keep my sentences short so I wouldn't unexpectedly blurt out anything I didn't want to say.

"Why wouldn't you talk to me this morning?" he interrogated, not bothering to answer my previous question. His deep brown eyes stared longingly toward me, and his face contorted into a wondrous state of confusion. I didn't want to watch as his eyes bore into me. I didn't want to watch him blithely twiddle his fingers. I didn't want more details to remember him by, more little habits I would miss when he left me after learning of what I had done. I suddenly realized my response was taking a little too long as one of his eyebrows lurched toward his forehead, silently begging me for some sort of answer.

"I-I don't know," I lied. "I was just rushed, I was late for Calc." Lies. "And you know how Mr. Calvin is when you're not there exactly on time." I waited with bated breath for some reaction from him. His head turned down a little toward the floor, then back up to me, filled with the contagious, crooked smile I'd come to love.

"Alright," he announced, crossing his arms. "I'll let you slide, but only for now." My posture suddenly relaxed as the air escaped my lungs. _Now just leave_, I thought. _Leave now before I hurt you forever._ Unfortunately, telepathy isn't exactly a skill of mine, so instead of running away from the practice room and away from my destructive behavior for good, Henry waltzed straight toward the piano and plopped down next to me on the bench. "So," he pronounced, slapping his hands on his knees. "What's in the playbill today? Mozart? Bach? Or will you loosen up enough for some jazz?" With each suggestion, his head bobbed a different direction, and his hands flew through the air until falling back onto his thighs. His smiling face tilted slightly toward me as he waited for an answer.

I knew I couldn't look at him long, or I would definitely cry or lose it or who knows what else. Instead, I turned to the keys, placed my hands an octave apart from each other, and flew into one my best pieces. I hadn't played it for quite some time, which caused me to miss notes again and again. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Henry smiling, his head occasionally turning ever so slightly to watch my fingers dance along the ivories. Before I knew it, the song was done. I exhaled loudly, slumped my body, and crossed my arms. Even my best song needed work. My eyes flashed toward Henry, half expecting him to mock my mediocre performance. He just smiled at me, occasionally glancing down toward the floor and back up to my face. The silence wasn't awkward. Believe me, when it comes to awkward silences, I've been well acquainted with the situation. But with Henry, it all just seemed normal. Nothing else mattered; it was just him, me, and a piano bench keeping us close. It was then that I realized my pain had left, if only for a few minutes. Henry's presence calmed me, kept me slightly sane. I was calm sitting next to him, even though I had a fucked up life at home. I was calm as his face leaned toward mine, his eyes rapidly jumping between my lips and my eyes.

I didn't move. I couldn't. My head gently tilted as I watched Henry approach me, his eyes silently pleading for the allowance of his lips against mine. Without any other notion of denial from me, Henry moved closer to me and tenderly placed his lips on mine. My eyes fluttered shut as he carefully kissed me again and again, slowly but surely. His hand found its way to mine, and his fingers danced across my skin, giving me goosebumps. Henry's kisses were so different from Gabe's. Henry was as tender and controlled as Gabe was intense and vehement. Still the lust and desire that radiated from both Gabe and Henry seemed nearly identical.

My eyes opened to the sight of Henry's lazy, romantic smile just inches from my face. Feeling my cheeks turning red, I quickly turned back to the piano, ready to distract myself from my embarrassment with another piece. I burst into Mozart's Sonata Facile, completing only a few measures before glancing back toward Henry. From what I could tell—from the split second I took my eyes away from the keys—he wasn't watching my fingers like he usually does. He was watching my face. I was about to glance again, but before I knew what was happening, two strong hands grabbed my face and pulled me to my right, tearing me away from the keys and locking me in an intense and passionate kiss. Although extremely surprised, I didn't object Henry's sudden forcefulness, and I soon melted into his embrace. His fingers raced from the nape of my neck to the small of my back, taking in every part of my head, back, and waist. I clutched his shirt as I kissed his lips and leaned further into him. The seconds that our lips broke away felt like hours, and every moment seemed precious, as if it were the last night of the world. I was abruptly stricken with guilt as I remembered how much it would hurt Henry to know what had happened last night. My body tensed, and I realized that every moment I'd spent with Henry made it even worse. Henry recognized my odd behavior almost instantly, and his kisses stopped.

"What's wrong?" he questioned worriedly. I dropped my head; I couldn't even let myself look at him. How could I allow myself to take someone so incredible and keep him with someone who would treat him like shit? "Natalie, you know you can tell me anything." Still no reply. Just as I closed my eyes, Henry's hand lightly grabbed my chin and lifted my head so my eyes would meet his. "Whatever happened," he nearly whispered, "it's okay now. Everything's alright. No matter what, I promise you," he placed his forehead against mine, "I love you." His gentle kiss closed the gap between us. As we pulled away, Henry's hand gently moved from my face to tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear. He smiled, then turned back to the piano to play a jazz piece I didn't know. I leaned against him, wishing I actually deserved someone like Henry.

Before long, after switching back and forth between Henry's jazzy improvisations and my classical sonatas, my phone rang. It was my dad. "Fuck," I groaned, making Henry snicker quietly. Dad always worried that something horrible had happened to me when he realized he hadn't seen me for a few hours. "Dad, I'm sorry I didn't call. I'm alright; I'm at the school with Henry. I'll be home soon." I rushed through my monotonous reply, and my dad hung up. That was all the justification my dad ever really needed. I glanced back toward the piano and then to Henry. He gazed longingly toward me and sighed.

"Too bad," he confessed. "I could've stayed here all night."

I blushed and looked away. "Yeah, me too," I stammered. All of a sudden, Henry grabbed my phone and began to type. "What are you doing?" I asked, but he didn't reply. After a few moments, he turned the phone to face me, showing a just-sent text to my dad that read, "Change of plans. Can I stay the night at Henry's?" Half-hoping he'd object it and half-praying he'd let me go, I waited for my dad's reply. Only moments later, my phone buzzed. "Sure," it said. "Just make sure it's okay with his parents." Henry nodded and I responded to my dad that it was okay. My eyes flashed toward Henry as he grabbed our backpacks and waltzed through the door. I followed him through the halls and to his car. After joining him in the passenger seat, I gazed at Henry, feeling a lascivious longing I'd never experienced before, not even with Gabe. I wondered if Henry felt the same, when a question suddenly arose in my head.

"Are you sure your parents are okay with me coming home with you?" I asked, hoping for a positive answer.

"They have to be," Henry replied with a devious grin. "They're not home."


End file.
